


Out of my reach, but always in my eye line

by desert_coffin



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentioned suicide attempt, Supernatural Abilities, alternative universe, reading minds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert_coffin/pseuds/desert_coffin
Summary: Even can read minds, until the day he can't. He can't tell what's so special about that blond boy.It shouldn't be that big of a deal but Even soon finds himself obsessed.





	Out of my reach, but always in my eye line

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration struck at 4AM all the way back in April and had to be coaxed back. In the meantime, Even's suicide attempt became canon but trigger warnings nonetheless.
> 
> Shamelessly inspired by colazitron's oneshot featuring a mind-reading Even.

_So fucking loud_ , is the first thing that comes to his mind as he steps through the metal gate enclosing the courtyard.

There are groups of students everywhere. Their voices and their thoughts resonate in the wide empty space and in all the corners of his mind, and Even winces before he catches himself. Clearly, he has spent too much time alone in his room if the noise of a typical Monday morning is overwhelming.

He shields himself again, feeling a little stupid for yielding to this morbid need to listen to the minds around him. They’re not about him, these thoughts; it’s all mundane, teenage things like the party at Anna’s next Friday or the occasional forgotten homework.

Nothing like his parents’ thoughts, so loud he could hear them through the walls, gray haze seeping through the gap under the door, swirling around his room and over his bed. Worry so strong it gripped his heart like a vice when his mother would come to bring him a meal. He would stare down silently at her from under his covers as she looked up, the desperation in her eyes and in her head pushing at his mind.

He’s glad they can’t hear him; can’t hear the guilt and the _Bad son, I’m a bad son_ and the quiet way he cries sometimes, when he’s too exhausted to push everything out. When the gray breaches the walls inside his head.

Even stares at his feet and sighs, takes a deep breath, braces himself for what’s coming. He checked his schedule this morning and he knows where he’s supposed to head off to now. For once, he’s got his life in order, but it’s _them_ he’s scared of.

What if the rumors made it all the way here somehow? He doesn’t think he could handle it. First row seat to the spectacle of people looking at him and thinking it, louder than a scream.

_Psycho. Crazy. Mental._

_Failure._

Sonja had been there, through and through. And it didn’t matter, if sometimes her voice was laced with steel, or if her words cut like knives, because he had the comfort of her thoughts at least. The love she radiates at him, warm pink glow surrounding her like a halo, even when he was at his lowest, even when she watched him crumble.

Even when she had to stick two fingers in his mouth and make him gag and retch until he threw it all back up.

It’s a constant presence at his back, pink and blue still swirling around him from when they kissed goodbye this morning, and it pushes at his spine; helps him stand tall as he weaves through the crowd in the hallway.

 

-

 

Four hours later and Even feels a bit better, tense shoulders sagging a little as he reclines into his hair and folds his arms over his lap. Nobody seems to know about him, and the mere thought makes something unravel in his stomach. There’s even a tiny smile curving his lips. It’s a small reprieve, and who knows how long it will even last. Still, he wants to seize it, let it warm his chest and tint the air around him the vibrant green of hope.

A loud laugh echoes through the cafeteria and Even turns his head automatically toward its source. He likes to watch people laugh. The colors are never quite the same but they always glimmer and shine, and Even likes to play that little game where he closes off his mind and tries to guess what they are laughing about. He’s rarely right, obviously, but it's fun to invent entire stories about people he has never met; makes him wonder what his life could be.

And maybe they're not quite just stories, maybe they're secret fantasies of who he wishes to be. It doesn't matter, because they're just that; bits and pieces of a daydream trapped in his brain.

His gaze stops on the curly brown haired guy still laughing his head off, and Even smiles a little when he sees the crimson haze enveloping him. He knows the meaning of that particular shade of red by now. Sees it often enough wrapping around boys and girls alike when they stare at him a little too long, and when their thoughts get a little too loud.  

It means _sex,_ and _lust_. Although, considering the guy isn’t ogling anyone in particular, he’s probably just retelling a story of a recent hookup to his friends.

“High five, dude!” a blond guy says, raising an open palm toward his friend in congratulation, and Even chuckles a little at how easy this is sometimes. Not that teenage boys were usually hard to read, for someone like Even.

He throws one last glance at the group, noting the dark green of envy seeping from the blond and the guy sitting next to him, and he’s already looking away when it suddenly hits him.

Eyes back on the boys, more attentive this time. He doesn’t waste time, flits his gaze over to the blond guy wearing a snapback and sitting at the end of the table.

Even squints, hesitates for a second before he willingly projects the power of his mind outward.

For a second, there’s a confused jumble of thoughts washing over him, and Even grimaces with the sheer volume of it. That guy with the straight blond hair is particularly loud, so much that Even has to make a conscious effort to block him out as he zeroes in on the _other_ blond guy and listens.

Nothing _._

Even knows he’s staring but he can’t stop himself, and it’s kind of a good thing that the boy is too busy pushing food around his plate to notice.

If anything, it just confuses Even more. The guy’s face is stony, jaw so rigid there definitely has to be something he’s thinking. And Even knows that any other time he would be able to hear him, loud and clear.

A little bewildered, Even leans back in his chair. Nineteen years of existence, fifteen of hearing thoughts and he can’t remember a single time he couldn’t _hear_ someone. He stares at the guy some more, heartbeat picking up as the seconds tick by.

There’s something about this boy; Even isn’t sure what, yet. Kind of doesn’t want to delve into his own thoughts too much for now. But he wants to know. He wants to know so badly.

 

_-_

 

The rest of the day is a blur. Even knows he’s looking a little too long at every blond head he spots through the crowd, tries to ignore the somersault his stomach does every time it happens. And it happens. _A lot._ This is Norway, for fuck’s sake.

He finds himself in the courtyard, scanning the groups of teenagers scattered around. The wall against his back is cold but there’s a strange warmth in his chest when he finally sees them _._

They’re laughing again, the blond joining in this time, and it strikes Even how strange the entire situation feels. He absolutely can’t read the boy; has no idea if his laugh is genuine or why he looked so surly at lunch. It’s the first time he can’t read someone and he feels so… crippled.

Before he realizes what he's doing, his mind is prodding at their thoughts again. He listens in for a few seconds, until the sheer ridicule of the situation hits him and he withdraws immediately. What the _fuck_ is happening to him?

With a frustrated growl, he tears his eyes away from the group and forces himself to walk toward the gate. Enough bullshit, he desperately tries to convince himself. Whoever that boy is, he’s probably not worth the drama and the headache. Not to mention the fact that Even can't possibly get along with someone whose thoughts he can’t hear. The stress of it alone would be enough to break him.

 

-

 

Later that night, Sonja calls to ask him about his day. She does, and he answers, even though he hates speaking to her on the phone. He doesn't like the effects of her words on him, how raw and harsh they feel without the pink warmth to soften her tone. How much she sounds like the little voice in his head that calls him a failure.

Tonight, the conversation is amiable enough, until she pointedly asks if he’s made any new friends, and wouldn’t that be good for him, help him back on track?

Even just sighs and closes his eyes, says _uh-huh_ and agrees to whatever she says until they hang up. The ‘I love you’ rings in his ear but it’s obnoxious, unpleasant. _Does she really_ , he wonders before he can stop himself, and he hates himself for that thought.

If it weren’t for Sonja, would he even be here today?  

 

-

 

It’s a sickness, he thinks in the dead of night, curled up in his blanket. A fever of the mind, taking over his body.

He had seen the boy again today, close enough to touch. They were in the queue at the cafeteria, and Even’s hand had itched with the need to reach out, and his throat had felt clogged with all the things he wanted to say.

He had opened his mind again, stared hard at the myriad of scratches on his tray as he listened and listened and hoped to hear the boy. But there had been a girl right next to him, and the sound of her thoughts had shocked him into withdrawing into his head again.

Her mind had sounded so much like Sonja’s.

 

-

 

Two weeks and he's going out of his skin. Even Sonja can tell.

She's there today, too, and she frowns at him. Stares too long. Asks what's wrong. In turn, Even stares at the corner of hardwood floor he can see just beyond his folded knees. They're both sat on the carpet, eating cake right out of the box. It's not a special occasion, but maybe it is.

Sonja means well, she's sweet; a cake to celebrate his return to school. It should be warming his heart, but all he feels is irritation.

At her, for thinking he needs encouragement in the form of a chocolate cake. For assuming he wouldn't be able to handle it. For not noticing just _why_ he’s been so distracted lately.

At himself, for letting a random boy invade his thoughts. For the way his breath hitches when he spots him through the crowd.

Sonja is all murky orange right now, concern radiating off her, and he closes his eyes against the assault of her thoughts. He doesn’t want to read her, doesn’t think he can handle the way she will think _depression_ and _episode_ and how hurt she will sound.

Even looks at her, forcing a smile, and she smiles back, hesitantly. Her aura takes a rosy tint and it's enough to settle the tension in his body.

The two of them, it doesn't have to be extraordinary, or mind-blowing, or bigger than life; none of these superlatives that make the blood in his veins course faster at times.

And when she cradles his head in her warm palms and he breathes in the faint smell of soap and perfume, he could almost think this is all he ever wanted.

Almost.

Because, when the darkness closes in on him, the boy comes back to inhabit his thoughts, unbidden. And Even isn’t strong enough to keep him out, can’t find it in him to stop his own thoughts.

It’s nothing, nothing at all. Harmless fantasies floating through his fucked up brain. A taste of something different when reality becomes too much to handle.

 

-

 

Even lied.

It’s not nothing; it’s something _,_ definitely _something,_ that makes him focus on the disparate little crew every single time he sees them.

He observes them in silence; when they're getting sandwiches, when they're hanging out in the courtyard after school lets out. He listens sometimes, a little jolt in his chest every time he thinks he can hear _him_.

It's creepy, and weird, how obsessed he's getting over this boy.

He learns some of their names, even starts distinguishing their mental voices better. The boy - _his boy_ , Even refuses to let himself think but does anyway - seems close to his brown haired friend. They're often together, just the two of them after school. Even listens without shame and feels a flare of jealousy when he realizes how much that other boy seems to care about the blond. There's always a warm yellowish glow about him when they're together; Even almost feels sad for the blond, that he can't see for himself how much his friend loves him.

There's bile rising to his throat, bitter thoughts of a past long gone, friendships and secrets forgotten, with just the taste of ash to remember it by.

By the time Even snaps out of it, the boys are long gone.

 

-

 

Salvation has a name – Mahdi – and wears Nike sneakers. It happens while Even is mindlessly letting strangers’ thoughts drift through his head, from the comfort of the couch. Someone calls out the name excitedly, and when he looks, it’s that blond boy who’s probably a virgin.

Mahdi is talking excitedly to his group of friends, and Even can't hear what he’s saying, but he doesn't need to. The clutter of thoughts is pretty straightforward– booze, weed, beer, a girl's boobs. He seems to linger on that last part specifically and Even scowls a little but can't pull away just yet. They’re clearly talking about a party, and there's a fantastic idea slowly taking hold in his mind as he listens.

_A big, brown house. The nameplate of a tram station. A female body framed by two skinny arms. The name ‘Julie’ repeated throughout._

The idea is steadily turning into a plan, and Even ignores the uneasiness gnawing at his stomach for now. Yet again, the blond boy draws his eye like a magnet, and Even can't help but look over to watch him lean back against his chair, white column of his throat exposed as he listens to Mahdi’s story.

He's so beautiful, and he's grinning, and laughing, and his smile is brighter than a thousand suns. Even can't remember how to breathe.

 _I like you_ , he thinks, _I like you, I like you._

There's warmth blooming in his chest, the beginning of something big. A feeling like a suckerpunch to the stomach.

Helplessly, the way he's done a hundred times before already, Even pushes his feelings out. Aims them at the boy, wills him to _feel_. The thrill of it is squashed by resignation, the crushing preemptive knowledge that whatever he's feeling, he's alone in it. It doesn't stop him from desperately trying, as if it would somehow make the boy return his feelings.

It's probably why he doesn't expect it when the boy suddenly turns his head toward him. It’s like he knew Even was staring, from the way their eyes meet across the room.

Even could swear his heart stops beating for a second. It occurs to him then, that the boy might have a power of his own, too. He feels exposed, stripped away of all the walls around his mind and his heart. _What if the boy can see?_

There are tendrils of blue haze curled around his chest, he knows. Transparent feelings for the world to see. For the boy to see.

 _Fuck fuck fuck,_ Even's brain sing-songs.

Just as quickly as he looked up however, the boy looks away again, like he didn't mean to get caught. He starts fidgeting on his seat, pawing at his bun, and Even breathes a little easier. If the boy had read him, he wouldn't have reacted this way. Yet, somehow, he had felt Even, for the first time. It feels both scary and exhilarating.

Even focuses his thoughts, this time inward. He has enough information that he’ll have no problem finding the party the boys are going to on Friday. He can only hope the boy will be there too.

 

-

 

The house is full of second years, nobody he knows. Not that Even cares.

He knows just what to say, how to act, that nobody will question his presence at a ninety-niner’s party. His smile is extra bright tonight, the natural charm he knows works wonders on younger, impressionable people, turned up to 11.

The look the tall blond standing by the door gives him, along with the color seeping from his clothes, confirm his suspicions. Unfortunately for him, he isn't quite the blond boy Even is looking for tonight.

Even walks through the door and immediately opens his mind, seeking the three specific voices he could recognize anywhere. No luck tonight, however; the little squad doesn't seem to be anywhere in the vicinity. He's going to have to explore the house while looking as inconspicuous as possible.

Seeing the steady stream of people coming in and out of the kitchen, he goes there as well and pours himself a drink of whatever beer is available, the first unopened bottle he finds on the kitchen counter.

Now sipping at the lukewarm alcohol, he starts walking around. The house is fairly big, and the boys could be hiding somewhere less crowded. If he wanted to smoke some weed in peace– the way these boys seem to do at every party, considering their memories– where would he go?

He tries every bedroom and every bathroom door, stumbling on a few drunken couples making out, to no avail.

Even eyes the huge staircase leading to another floor. Up there, then.

 

-

 

He tries a few more doors once he’s upstairs, feeling increasingly stupid. Even if he did find those guys, what could he possibly say? Even would much rather his first meeting with the boy happened somewhere private and quiet, so he can talk and listen to him, learn what his voice sounds like and how he thinks and why he is the way he is. Solve the riddle of this mind he can't hear, and feel the relief of it flood his veins, because the world will be right and certain again once he knows.

The voice of that curly-haired boy bring him out of his thoughts. He's coming out of the bathroom at the end of the hall Even didn't get a chance to check yet, the blond guy and that Mahdi kid in tow. Even can barely stop himself from asking him where Isak is. Scanning the guy’s mind instead, he rapidly understand the blond is currently hooking up with some black-haired girl in the bathroom they just came out of.

Well, fuck. That's not what Even was planning for.

The mounting excitement he was feeling all through the day is replaced by intense disappointment. It’s not even justified, considering the boy had never actually given any sign that he was anything other than straight, but it still hurts like hell. They had seen each other, after all, taken notice of one another. It had meant more to Even than it really did.

The sound of footsteps behind him distracts him again, and he expects the boys to be back but it’s just a blonde girl, walking over to the bathroom and opening the door without knocking.

He catches part of the conversation - “Yousef is here?” - and just as quickly as she came, the blonde is walking away with the brunette right behind her. They both throw him a confused glance, and Even realises he’s still standing alone in the deserted hallway, probably looking like a weirdo. He doesn’t need to confirm it; the palish green glow around them is indication enough.

The sounds of steps retreat behind him, and he takes a deep breath before marching decisively toward the closed door. This is his last chance, and maybe the boy had just been kissing a girl, but Even has never been so close to talking to him. He needs to know, needs to face up to the storm brewing inside him.

He pushes the door open.

The blond is leaning back against the wall, and he flinches so hard Even almost second guesses his decision to just waltz into the bathroom. He racks his brain for an excuse to not immediately walk back out like a normal person.

“Oh, sorry. Can I just-?” he trails off, gesturing at the sink.

The boy looks at him, eyes wide, before he lowers his gaze to the ground, nodding and mumbling a ‘yes’ Even can barely hear.

Once again, there’s nothing to read, nothing to hear. Even is at a loss, and he can tell the boy wants to be left alone; but the selfish part of him just won't listen.

He wants to stay, but he’s also panicking. At a loss on what he should do now that he's got the boy right where he wants him. How he should go about starting a conversation. This used to be easy, but now, somehow—

With what he hopes looks like a neutral expression, he takes his time washing his hands and pretending to inspect his clothes for imaginary stains, all the while stealing glances at the blond from the angles of the mirror. It's too soon when his hands are dry and his clothes all straightened out and there’s nothing else he can possibly do to stall for more time.

So, Even takes a deep breath, then another. Makes a show of inhaling the heady smell of weed still clinging to the walls.

“Smells nice in here. You got any more of that?”

The boy’s head whips up at that, an incredulous look on his face. It’s a few more seconds before he finally opens his mouth, and it's not quite what Even expected to hear either.

“Do you know how to smoke with this?” he asks, holding out a greatly altered water bottle, and Even kind of wants to scoff. Does this kid really think he's going to teach him how to vape?

“Yeah,” he says, while the boy is already rummaging into the deep pocket of his sports jacket – reaching for a good fucking half pound of weed, Even realizes – and he definitely didn't imagine the one boy he has been obsessing over to be a drug dealer.

“I'm not a dealer,” the boy says, like he read his mind and, fuck. That's not a good thought. Definitely not one he should be having at all, considering the flash of panic it elicits.

_Get a grip._

“It's chill...” Even says, trailing off and raising an eyebrow interrogatively. He hopes the boy has enough knowledge of social conventions to understand he's being asked his name.

All that earns him is more staring before the blond looks away awkwardly, still fidgeting with the stash. Well, then. Even’s going to have to be more explicit.

On a sudden impulse, he settles into the bathtub, shuffling his long limbs around awkwardly until he's somewhat comfortable. The boy visibly hesitates before he steps forward to sit next to him. Without a word, he starts filling the bowl with ground up weed, before holding the bottle out toward Even.

“Thanks. How much…?” Even feels the need to ask. The blond just waves the question away, shaking his head slightly.

“It's cool.”

“Some dealer you are,” Even says with a smirk, and the boy throws him an offended look before his lips curve into a hesitant smile. Time to go for it, Even thinks.

“I’m Even, by the way.” The boy looks away for a split second. And then:

“Isak. Do you go to Nissen?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” Even shoots back, tone amused.

Isak scoffs, eyes tracing the edge of the bathtub distractedly. “You’re here, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a second year. I’m not sure I can trust you,” he says, teasingly.

Even turns his head toward him, licking his lips.

“Why are you in a bathtub with me and sharing your weed then?”

Isak smiles mysteriously at that. They look at each other a moment too long, something passing between them. Isak looks away first but his smile doesn't fade.

“I’ve seen you a few times in the cafeteria,” Even’s mouth says of its own accord, the words ringing in the silence, and he feels just as surprised as Isak looks.

Isak who blinks a few times, disconcerted, seemingly turning the quiet confession over a few times in his mind before he nods curtly.

“Yeah, I- I might have seen you too. Once. Maybe.” His voice is a bit shaky, and Even’s heart is beating so fast he has the sudden and completely irrational fear Isak might hear it in the silence of the room.

“You were with a few other guys,” Even ventures again, because he apparently no longer has a brain-to-mouth filter. The panic grows, nerves thrumming in the silence that follows; it feels like he’s about to walk on a bed of embers.

If he didn't before, Isak is definitely going to think he's a creep now. And indeed, the boy squints at him suspiciously, or at least he tries. His lips are twitching at the corner of his mouth like he's trying not to smile, and he opens his mouth but then Even stops paying to the words that come out.

Because there's a flash of _something_ \- a color, Even thinks. Blue, maybe. It was too fast, he couldn't tell. But it’s enough to make his whole body shake, goosebumps breaking all over his arms like he just had a near-death experience. The gray that was creeping over Even’s skin instantly dissolves, replaced by the vivid magenta of hope.

 _Blue_ , his brain repeats like a broken record, already in a frenzy. He’s frozen on the thought, unable to answer Isak’s quip or simply keep the conversation going. Isak has noticed the strange way he's acting and leans over in concern.

“Hey… Was it too much?” he asks, voice a little hesitant now, pitch slightly higher. Even turns toward him, brain slow to catch up. For a delirious second, he thinks Isak is asking about the flash of color.

“Did you take too much?” Isak asks again, gesturing vaguely to the bottle in his hand. He seems worried, biting at his bottom lip and Even gets sidetracked by the motion, thoughts muddled.

Finally, he manages to recover enough to flash Isak an awkward smile. “Mhm.” The smile turns into a self-deprecating wince: “Seems like I’m a lightweight after all,” he says, winking. Isak smiles back slowly, turning away to take another hit from the bottle but Even spots the amused glint in his eyes.

 

-

 

The smoke from the bottle is working itself through their system, and the two boys progressively drift closer together in the tiny space of the bathtub. Isak has outed himself as an amateur rapper, and Even dares him to do the first verse of ‘8 miles’. They’re laughing so hard Isak doesn't hear his phone the first time Jonas calls him. When he picks up the second time, the grin he’s sporting falls within seconds.

“The police are here, I have to go,” he says after he hangs up, worry lightning up his beautiful green eyes. Even loses himself in them for a moment too long, belatedly reacting with a frown of his own.

“Are you gonna be fine?” he asks, eyeing the pocket where Isak has put his stash. Isak just nods, looking a bit green in the face. He doesn't seem so fine but Even isn't about to tell him that, more interested in somehow getting his number before Isak hightails out of this place, Cinderella style.

He manages to hold out until they're both over the hedge of the outer wall of the house before he asks. There's an embarrassing hitch in his breath when he does, because he's so damn scared Isak will not understand what exactly he's trying to do, or worse, scowl at him because he does.

Instead, Isak looks at him in silence; just takes a long look at him before he starts rattling off numbers that Even punches into his phone.

He’s gauging the situation, Even realizes. It's thrilling, the fact that they're both tiptoeing around _this_ , unsure of the other’s stance on the situation. The uncertainty of it all is both a burden and a relief, but Even hasn’t felt this genuine about anything in a long time.

Everything feels exciting, in a way that getting together with Sonja wasn't, because he had read her like a book back then. It’s so different with Isak, and the temptation to yield, to just _read_ is so instinctive, because it’s the only thing that can put Even at ease after the fiasco of his third year. The fact that he can’t terrifies him.

But strongest of all, is the need to be closer. To listen, to speak. To discover. And Even thinks he’s willing to take this chance.

Isak takes off not long after that, and Even can't blame him for not wanting to stick around, but. He wishes Isak hadn't been holding on to a big fucking stash of weed. Maybe he could have convinced him to stick around in that bathroom and that bathtub, even though he had been freezing his ass off.

His phone pings loudly in the silence, and for a second Even’s heart soars—

Until he realizes Isak has barely even turned the corner and probably has bigger concerns right now.

Even doesn't really want to check his phone after that, and only does out of a sense of duty, in case it might be his mother. The dread creeping up in his chest solidifies when he unlocks his phone, the five letter contact name staring back at him.

It's not his mother.


End file.
